


You Dig Yourself the Hole You're In

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 22:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: It had been Cor's idea, in the end. A way to keep Noctis safe, until he was old enough to protect himself.And so Regis agreed to send his son away with three Crownsguard, to grow up as a Hunter and learn about the outside world.





	You Dig Yourself the Hole You're In

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: One too many people decided to try to off the Chosen King before his time, so Regis sent Noctis away with Cor+a few other Crownsguards to live a life outside the city & away from his title/responsibilities. Necessity compels them to become hunters, and Noctis is raised as such. HOWEVER. They all still keep contact with the crown and Noctis knows his dad and that he (Noctis) is a prince, they just don't live in Insomnia.
> 
> \+ Good Dad Regis who Noctis visits sometimes
> 
> \+ Cor+Noctis bonding
> 
> \+ Lunoct or Luna&Noct friendship. Maybe the hunters took care of a monster around Fenestala Manor or maybe they travel with/protect the Oracle or something?
> 
> ++++ outsider POV on this dirty hunter kid tramping through the Citadel and having tea with the king.
> 
> DNW: any bro/bro ships, abusive dads/father figures

**Noctis; age 7.**

"This has to  _ stop." _

It's rare to hear Regis so frustrated, though Cor can sympathize. This is the ninth attempt on His Highness' life they've stopped in the last three months. Noctis is only seven - he's about as much of a threat as a baby Chocobo right now, and just as prone to mischief. Nobody should be taking aim at a seven year old  _ child. _

_ And yet here we are,  _ Cor thinks as he ties up the latest assailant's wrists behind his back, ignoring the glares he's getting from all the other men and women he's already tied up.  _ Dealing with a bunch of lunatics who don't seem to grasp that murdering a small child is not the correct way to express your frustration with the Crown. _

Regis has his head in his hands, sitting on the throne, slumped in exhaustion. Clarus is wound tense beside his liege, and Cor knows he's barely restraining himself from laying a hand on Regis' shoulder, like he did when he was a Prince instead of a King, and the world's problems were a little too heavy to bear alone. It's those same years of brotherhood that have Cor taking one look at that picture and wanting to bare his own fangs and kick the living daylights out of the pieces of shit currently sitting in front of him. 

Instead, he snaps out, "Get them out of here," at the waiting Crownsguard. They’re all green, barely out of training, but they remember The Immortal’s temper well enough to snap to, hauling the perps away with barely a glance back and shutting the door behind them, leaving Regis, Clarus and Cor in the silence once more. 

Regis exhales shakily, and with it comes that oh-so-delicate tremble that he’s always gotten when he’s on the verge of tears. That seems to shake the last of Clarus’ restraint loose, and he steps forward and lays a hand on Regis’ shoulder, and then takes it a step further and kneels down, pressing his forehead to Regis’ hair. The silent sign of a Shield willing Regis’ troubles onto his own broad shoulders, if only to prevent their heart from suffering longer. 

Cor makes no move to join them. He leaves the comforting to Clarus, and instead stands there, hand on the hilt of his sword, fingers rubbing at the familiar dents and creases on the hilt while his mind turns the situation over in circles.

Over the long centuries of the Lucis Caelum’s rule, the monarchs have always been targets. By friend, foe, by those claiming to have the country’s best interests at heart. And over those long centuries, the people around the monarchs have found ways to deal with attempts on their life. It’s become ingrained in their status; you accept that your King or Queen will become a target as soon as that badge, that title of Crownsguard is given to you. Cor accepted it with Mors, he accepted it with Regis, and so he accepts it with Noctis.

It’s just that there’s something about accepting the maybe-death of a child that always makes his skin crawl. They’ve run themselves in circles these past few attempts, trying to figure out how to remove Noctis from the target line. And yet nothing they’ve done has been successful. In fact, it almost feels like the more they withdraw him behind the Citadel walls, the harsher the attempts on his life.

The people who are aiming to kill Noctis are likely getting frustrated. And Noctis remains yet oblivious to almost all of it. Their only blessing in this scenario. Noctis is too young to be made to understand there are people who want him dead, and will do anything, say anything, to make it so. 

There must be a way to shake them. A way they aren’t seeing. At this rate, it would be kinder to send Noctis away, and --

_ Wait.  _

Cor pauses on the thought. Rolls it over in his head a few times. The weight of it feels right. Their assassins know where to find the Crown Prince easily enough. He isn’t old enough to be far from his father’s side. So they would reason to find him at the Citadel, and they would be correct. Well-guarded though it is, all it would take is a single slip - tour groups come through all the time, and nobody thinks anything of them. An easy way for an assassin to get in.

But if they put Noctis outside, in a city, or beyond that, in a  _ different city  _ entirely--

“Regis,” Cor says, and his tone finally has his King raising his head, Clarus turning his just so. “Don’t bite my head off, but I might have an idea.”

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-X

  
  


The phrase ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ quickly becomes null and void as Cor and Clarus work around the clock to fine-tune details on the whys and hows of their leave from the Citadel. Clarus isn’t truly leaving, but making it look like he is will draw in the most attackers to take aim at Regis, and if they’re going to be evacuating the Prince from this lifestyle, they may as well take out some of Regis’ woes while they’re at it.

To say Regis is ‘upset’ with the idea of Cor taking his son far, far away is an understatement; it’s only Clarus’ quick thinking and quicker talking both as a Shield and a long time friend that saves Cor from being stabbed by Regis’ Armigier that day, and avoids him from the wrath of countless Kings and Queens of Old. Even if they hate it, the way Cor explains it -  _ it will save him from years of needing to duck his head to avoid bullets, Majesty. Even if you hate it, you have to admit, it’s hard to find a Crown Prince when you don’t know where you’re supposed to be looking.  _

Regis hates that too. Hates that in order to keep his son safe, he’ll be effectively sending him away. 

“It’s not like it’s forever,” Clarus says. “He’ll visit often, you two can keep in contact through phone and email and whatever else you need. Once he’s old enough to defend himself, he can come back. But right now, it’s too risky.”

So Regis subsides, and the Kings and Queens of Old finally stop hissing and muttering ominously whenever Cor walks past, and Noctis is ten kinds of excited for his ‘camping trip with Uncle Cor’. 

He’s less excited when Cor gently tells him no, Ignis can’t come (sorry Ignis), and it’s not going to be a camping trip so much as a  _ move. _

“But… why?” Ah yes, the eternal question of  _ why.  _ A question Cor has hated since he was young. Unfortunately, there’s no way to avoid it, especially not here. If he wants Noctis to cooperate, he needs him to understand, even young as he is.

So Cor tries his hand at being delicate. 

“There are a lot of bad people who want to hurt your father, Noctis. And the easiest way to do that is by hurting you. These bad people have been showing up more and more lately, and your father is worried you’re going to wind up getting badly hurt one of these days. So we’re going to take you out of the equation entirely - we’ll be splitting off our own little group, and you and us will be living outside Insomnia as Hunters until you’re old enough to protect yourself.”

Noctis isn’t much happier than Regis, honestly. But for a seven year old, he understands. He really does. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Can I call dad at least once a week, at least?”

“We’re not going to take away communication between you and you father. There will be calls, emails, chats, visits. We’re just… going away for a while.”

“I won’t be a Prince?”

“You’ll just be Noctis.”

_ That  _ sets the kid to grinning like he’s been personally gifted the sun - Cor knows being royalty bothers him a lot. So if nothing else, that makes it easier. 

And then comes the task of gently persuading Ignis that no, he hasn’t been a bad retainer, no, it’s not a punishment, its for Noctis’ safety. No, you can’t come along. No, Ignis.

For such a young man, he frets like a mother with empty-nest syndrome. Cor would feel bad, if this wasn’t so dire. As it is, once Clarus gets the network to their new hidey-hole up and running, he gives Ignis both his personal email as well as Noctis’, gives Noctis’ his, and then ensures everything is packed, ready to go, and not liable to cause them undue pain anytime soon.

“Be safe,” Regis orders to them, the last day in the Citadel. He hugs Noctis, murmuring soft things Cor doesn’t want to know and frankly pretends he can’t hear. He knows Regis loves his son more than anything in the world, would do anything for him. That doesn’t make this any easier.

And so it is that Noctis Lucis Caelum’s seventh year closes with his absconding from the Citadel, to be released with a small group of Crownsguards into the wilds of the world, beneath the title of ‘Hunter’.

  
  


**Noctis; age 10**

Before Cor knows it, two years have passed.

He thinks about it one morning, out in the Weaverwilds as he’s wiping his blade clean from his latest hunt. In the two years since their flight from the Citadel, much has happened. Noctis has undone nearly every bit of social conditioning and perfection to finally act like a  _ kid,  _ which is heartening to see, but also reveals a problem Cor did not expect to actually ever meet in his lifetime. 

It turns out, when not backed by social conditioning and perfectionism implanted by adults, Noctis the Kid is an unrepentant little  _ shit.  _ And Cor loves him for it. Even if he spends half his time nowadays swatting Noctis’ grubby little claws away from the bigger Mark papers - because as it turns out, there’s no age limit to being a Hunter. And with Cor and his team being “Hunters” in name and deed right now, it effectively marks Noctis as a Hunter’s kid, and they get trained  _ early.  _ Like  _ right out of the womb  _ early.

But it’s fine. Cor’s gotten it into his habit to keep an eye on Noctis whenever he wanders into a room, and especially when the boy gets wide-eyed and sweet, because it means he’s plotting for a way to distract Cor long enough to reach for one of the mark papers on the kitchen table, and scurry off to his room to get dressed and go. Cor’s been tempted a few times to let Noctis take one and go for it - but then the image of himself going up against Gilgamesh rears its head, and he remembers  _ oh right, small children, sharp weapons and fights they can’t win is a bad combination.  _

And that’s even before he gets to the part where Regis would gladly assemble the team again just to help him hunt Cor down and skin him like a prized rabbit. So yeah, best not to go there.

Monica seems to find it just as amusing as Cor, but she’s also  _ crafty  _ where it concerns the papers. She hides them in various spots throughout the house, changing the spot every time Noctis walks in or out of a room and it drives the kid absolutely  _ mad.  _ The last time she did it, Noctis was trailing around after her for  _ hours  _ trying to find the damned thing, and in his pursuit didn’t realize Monica had him weeding the garden, planting new growth, taking out the trash into the compost bin, and helping to lay down new feed for the animals all within the first fifteen minutes. It really was something to see, and Cor made her favorite meal that night, once he’d stopped trying to laugh himself sick into his coffee cup.

Ten years old isn’t exactly Hunter material, but Cor isn’t about to let Noctis sit still the entire time they’re away from home. And he isn’t about to leave His Highness unprotected. There will come a time when Cor will shift some of the smaller, easier hunts onto him, if only so they can focus on the bigger monsters causing problems. So while he isn’t going to let Noctis grab one of the stacks from the kitchen table, he’s not  _ entirely  _ against the boy getting some exposure.

He calls Monica on the way back to the car. As ever, she’s already aware of his thoughts when she answers.

_ “Let me guess - you want Noctis to accompany you today?” _

“Perceptive as ever. I’ll turn this one in and head back to pick him up. Don’t let him know what I’m doing.”

“ _ Easier said than done. I’ll see what I can do.” _

“Thank you.”

The coin earned from the single hunt he tucks into a back pocket, to save for later. A reward, if Noctis behaves himself. When he arrives at the house, Noctis is dressed and ready to go, if not slightly curious.

“Where are we going, Cor?”

“I’ll show you. Get in.”

The next hunt is a little tougher than the pack of Sabertusks from this morning, for all that there are only three of them on the roster. He unfolds the paper from his belt, and hands it over to Noctis, who takes it with ginger hands. “Tell me what you know about Anaklaban.”

Noctis blinks up at him, and then appears to shake his shock away. “U-uhm, omnivore-class. Technically considered an invasive species because of their coloration, even though they’re the same family as Anak and Arba,  _ giraffa _ .”

“What makes them a threat over the common Anak or Arba?” Cor presses. “Why would they go on a roster hunt when their kin don’t?”

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Coloration difference. It’s been recorded that herbivore species of different colorations usually attract more mates. My guess is it’s causing an issue with herds of males.”

“Why?”

“Because males get aggressive over females? Which is stupid, but whatever.”

Cor fights back a smile. “So the color of the coat is the reason for the hunt.”

“Uh, pretty sure, yeah. Why are you asking  _ me  _ this? Didn’t Monica give you all the details last night?”

“She did. But I want to see if  _ you  _ can figure it out. You’re going to be observing this hunt, and I want to make sure you’re actually taking in information, not just letting it slide off you because you think you won’t be involved with this someday.” He meets Noctis’ eyes for a brief moment. “King or not, you have a responsibility over your realm, Highness. Sometimes that means taking on political issues like war or territory disputes, and sometimes it’s smaller things like taking out invasive pests. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Noctis says after a moment. “But I mean, when I’m King, it’s not like I’m going to have time to take up hunts. I doubt they’ll let me out of Insomnia for longer than five seconds.” His small shoulders slump against the leather seat of the car, mouth pulled into a pinched grimace that makes him look even more like Regis. “So I mean, it’s probably useful while I’m here, but not when I get older, right? Unless it’s just to teach me about how to read my enemies in general. But I doubt Niflheim is gonna parade their army through just so I can get a read on them.”

“No, most likely not,” Cor agrees, grimly amused by the thought of Iedolas marching his men through the streets of Insomnia two by two for the Prince to examine. “Were it only so easy. But you  _ will  _ be King, Noctis. And if Niflheim is gone and your people are happy, and you want two or three days to come out and be a commoner? You can do that. There are people who will be able to hold the reins for you to do that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna push that on them. It’d be selfish of me.”

Cor doesn’t sigh, even if he wants to, just a little. “Trust me when I say, for all the good you’ll do, there will be days where being selfish will be expected of you. Even encouraged.”

“How do  _ you  _ know I’ll do good? I might be a crap King.”

“Language, Noctis.”

“What, it’s true!”

Cor rolls his eyes, pulling the car to a stop by the side of the road instead of answering. “We’re here. Come along now, and stay close.”

To his credit, Noctis appears to understand how serious the whole hunt is, and follows Cor’s order, sticking to his right hip as they move up the slope. In the distance among rubble and ruins, Cor catches the gleam of black markings against white fur, and hears the sound of hooves striking concrete. Wordlessly, he puts a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, drawing him down behind a patch of taller grass.

“The thing about the Anaklaban you won’t learn through anything other than personal experience,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low, “Is that anything with an unnatural coloration in a species usually comes with a far more aggressive temper. With common Anak or Arba, so long as you pose no threat to their offspring or them, they’re willing to let you wander around them. With these ones however, the instant they see you in their territory, they’re going to be proactive in chasing you out, or killing you.”

Noctis nods slowly, eyes on the ruins in the distance. Right on time, one of the Anaklaban comes wandering out, horn head turning as it walks. It’s ears are twitching; despite Cor keeping his voice low, it wouldn’t surprise him if they can hear something, and are looking for it. 

“The trick,” he says, pushing Noctis down into the grass until he’s flat on his stomach, and completely invisible to the coming creatures. “Is to remain still. You might not blend in, but they see by movement as well as scent. You’re downwind from them, so unless you start flailing around, they won’t see you. Now, stay here, and  _ watch.” _

Normally, Cor would remain in one spot, and let his opponents come to him. Having Noctis with him turns it into a starkly different experience though, one fraught with the periphery concern for the boy in the grass. This time it's Cor who strides boldly forward, and starts forward up to his opponents at an angle; the Anaklaban lock on to him immediately, and they start striding towards him as a unit, hoping to intimidate. They pay no attention to the patch of grass he emerged from, but Cor doesn't risk it. He keeps to an angle, and once he's certain he's far enough to where Noctis can still see them but is in no danger, he attacks.

The battle is incredibly one-sided, for all that it's three against one, and the opponents are bigger with a longer reach than him. Cor keeps moving at all times, keeps his enemies in his sights, and aims his cuts for soft flanks and strong tendons. Then it's simply a matter of avoiding the kicking hooves to deliver a killing slash to the soft underbelly or neck.

It's bloody, for all that it's short. In the aftermath, Cor sets the cleaning of his blade aside and instead turns around, scanning the horizon. His eyes spot a tuft of black among green, barely visible, and he gestures, calling, “Here, Noctis.”

Noctis doesn’t immediately come out of his hiding spot, a smart decision for the future king. Cor watches as he looks around himself; it wouldn’t surprise the older man if Noctis was already aware that Sabertusks set up their dens near Anak habitats to better capitalize on moments precisely like this. A smart Sabertusk would witness Cor, and hang back, but a smarter one would go straight for the patch of grass Cor vacated only a short time ago. And without a weapon, Noctis would only be able to fight for so long.

This time, he’s lucky. There are no bigger beasts waiting in the wings to catch the pair off-guard, and so after a moment Noctis comes out of his hiding spot, and joins Cor by the body. His first reaction is to grimace, his face turning a paler shade at the sight of the carnage. A natural reaction, but one Cor intends to wean him out of.

“Don’t flinch,” he orders, and cups Noctis’ shoulder, turning him about. “This is part of the natural order of things out here, Highness. Beast hunts beast. Man hunts beast. Beast hunts man. It’s rarely clean or pretty.”

Noctis glances back at the body, and his shoulders hunch themselves. An uncomfortable sound worms its way out of his throat, and Cor knows what’s coming.

“If you’re going to be sick, do it now. You won’t have such an opportunity later.”

The boys on the field usually try to play it tough, and Cor hates that. Noctis nods, and then politely turns and vomits into a nearby patch of greenery. Cor doesn’t watch, already well aware of the feeling - he was sick his first time too, when an older soldier took him by hand and showed him the mess left over from a live battlefield. 

_ “The kindest way to do it,''  _ he said. Better than a live battle, when it was reckless and fast and damn foolish to get sick. Either before or after, Cor learned. Never during.

He wordlessly pulls his water flask off his hip and offers it to the young prince when the sounds stop. Noctis takes it with shaking fingers, taking a quick swig, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting. 

“Ugh.”

Cor can’t resist a chuckle.

“Eloquent, Highness.”

It earns him a glare from Noctis. But the boy softens after a moment, turning his attention back to the Anaklaban before them. “So it’s always going to be like this?”

“Not necessarily. If you’re skilled enough, you can cut your enemies down with a single movement.”

“So you could have made this shorter?”

“At additional risk to myself, yes.”

It’s not precisely a lie; he knows if Noctis had witnessed him getting kicked by one of those powerful hooves, he would have come out of hiding. And getting kicked by Anak, especially one of the more aggressive sub-breeds, is nothing easy to shake off. At the best, it would have broken bones. At worst, it would have killed him.

Noctis evidently realizes it too, judging by the grim set of his mouth. 

“Fast enough to avoid getting injured,” Cor says, and sets a hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “Strong enough to cut them down quick. There’s your new goal, Highness. Until your father vacates the throne, work towards it.”

“I will,” Noctis says, solemn as the grave, and Cor finally reaches down to clean his blade.

“Good. Then, let me show you how to clean and skin your dinner after you cut it down.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

  
  


** _Noctis; age 12_ **

“Dad, it’s not a big deal. It’s like, a scrape.”

Regis turns his head to look at Cor. Cor, used to years of Clarus fixing him with with the famous Amicitia Murder Stare, calmly looks back and says, “He dodged a blow meant to kill him. Would you rather he be dead?”

He isn’t being facecisious, for once. If Noctis hadn’t moved when he did, the blade of the assassin would have slid right through his gut, down into his liver. He would have been dead before Cor was done with his attacker, and no amount of Crystal magic or Phoenix Down would have repaired the internal damage. He would have been brought back only to die again, and again, and again.

Cor, however hard-hearted he might be at times, is not cold enough to do that to a boy he has spent as much time as Regis raising at this point.

Clarus gently peels one edge of the thick bandages aside, and looks at the wound. “No infection,” he says, and there’s approval in his voice. “And enough healing salve on there to make him high. Building up a tolerance there, Cor?”

“Been there, done that,” Noctis says calmly. “Last year, actually. When I told you guys I couldn’t come for spring.”

If looks could kill, Cor thinks, his King would finally be putting those  _ immortal  _ rumors to rest. “He smashed his head on some rocks rolling down a mountain. We didn’t predict the landslide. He got two scraped knees and a concussion. He was  _ fine,  _ Regis.”

“And I’m fine now,” Noctis picks up. He reaches over, and lays a hand on his dad’s good knee, looking up at him earnestly. “Honest.”

Regis’ love for his son has never known any bounds, and it’s still pleasant to watch all that anger wilt in the face of his son’s gentle reassurance. Regis scoops Noctis up, mindful of his still-healing wound, and cradles him close. Cor and Clarus both pretend to take a vested interest in the begonias across the way. 

“If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself,” Regis tells Noctis, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, Noctis. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know. And I love you too, Dad. But honest, Cor’s taking good care of me. I've learned more than I would if I'd stayed here.”

Regis looks like he wants to argue that, but after a moment lets it go. Probably for the best, since Noctis isn't wrong. At the Citadel, sitting at the feet of scholars and historians and combat instructors picked by Regis, there would be limits set in place for what they were allowed to teach Noctis. What skills would cultivate him best. What lessons could be edited out of his daily schooling without taking anything away.

Out in the wilds, there is none of that. Cor, Monica and Dustin teach Noctis what they know, and Noctis picks it up. Not because it is expected of the Crown Prince, but because he wants to  _ know. _ The Citadel teachers wouldn't care much for that, or if they did, they would do it only to gain favor. 

“Trust me,” Noctis says. “I'm in the best hands right now. Unless you don't trust Cor anymore?”

That's sly of him, Cor thinks. But also a little too mean of him. “Noctis,” he warns, and the duck of Noctis’ head tells him the little brat  _ planned  _ to get Cor to react, and show Regis just how well in hand Cor has him.

Regis knows it too, if the gleam in his eye is anything to go by. Clarus hides a grin behind a cough as their King chuckles. 

“The best hands, hm? Well now, I might just believe it. Good to see you're finally settling down, Cor.”

Clarus snorts. “Is that what we're calling hoarding your son now?”

“Excuse  _ you,”  _ Cor snarls. “Monica gets him more than me!”

He realizes the trap he's fallen for a second too late as both Regis and Clarus break into mad cackling, like the pair of hyenas they are. 

“Oh my,” Regis tuts. “If I didn't know better, Cor Leonis, I would swear you were  _ jealous.” _

“Well then, it's good that you know better, isn't it Regis?” Cor demands tartly, which just makes Clarus wheeze into his fist a little louder and Regis grin a little wider. 

Filthy traitors. All of them.

He locks gazes with Noctis, and makes it clear through a simple narrowing of eyes he'll be  _ paying  _ for this mischief later.

Much like his father, Noctis chooses just to smile up at him, comfortable in the knowledge that whatever punishment Cor dishes out tonight, he will still be loved and kept safe by the adults around him.

_ Little shit,  _ Cor thinks not at all fondly, and resolves him to dinner cleaning duty with Dustin that evening. That, at least will earn him the satisfying squeals of  _ eeeww!!  _ Noctis tends to make whenever that particular chore comes up, for all that he’ll stick his arms down the mouth of a fish to retrieve a simple trinket Cor picked up on one of his hunts like it’s a life-or-death matter.

(Child priorities are strange, Cor thinks. Child values are even stranger.)

  
  


** _Noctis; age 13_ **

“No, Regis, everything is  _ fine.  _ No I'm not lying, why would I be?” Cor kicks out with a leg, and Noctis hisses like a cat, digging into his side harder. Cor swings to the side, and Noctis yelps, sliding down to his hips. Baring his teeth at Cor, he makes to climb him again, but Cor uses his momentum to about-face sharply, and Noctis goes flying, crash-landing onto the floor over by the dining table, making half the house rattle.

The fact that Noctis almost immediately rolls over, shakes himself, and lunges for Cor again speaks of just how often they’ve done this. That, and the fact that Dustin doesn’t look up from where he’s pouring across intelligence reports at said dining table, or Monica look up from where she’s over scrubbing the pot she used to make stew for lunch clean. 

_ “You merely seem very...preoccupied, my friend,”  _ Regis says in his ear, and Cor misses his next words over Noctis’s attempt to hop on his back and scurry up his arm to grab the latest batch of hunts that are  _ far too overleveled for a brat like him to take.  _ Cor snarls and flings his arm out, and once more his Prince goes sailing through the air with a yelp, slamming into the wall hard enough to knock a picture frame off the wall. Monica looks up briefly, rolls her eyes, and goes right back to scrubbing.

Noctis is apparently dazed for a moment, so Cor lets out a breath and says, “Say again, Regis?”

“ _ I said Clarus thought perhaps of bringing Gladio by for Noctis to spar with for a few days. He mentioned you seemed rather… haggard the last time you spoke. He’s not running you ‘round the bend, is he? I can speak with him, if he’s misbehaving.” _

“Hardly.” And he glances over to find Noctis gone, and immediately starts scoping out where the little trouble-maker has gone now. “He’s being his typical self, Regis.”

_ “So… currently trying to grab hunt papers out of your hands?” _

A breeze stirs the top of his head; Cor ducks, yanking his hand holding the hunt papers down, and Noctis screams as he plummets from the rafters to the ground. 

“Got it in one,” he says to Regis, who sputters into the phone.

_ “Cor, was that my  _ ** _son?”_ **

“Yeah. Don’t worry, he’s not dead. He’s going to be pulling weeds for the next six weeks though, and de-gutting all of our kills for the next three months alongside that.”

Noctis rises slowly, sniffling, crocodile tears clinging to his lashes as he clutches his cheek like he’s been slapped. Cor, having played the game before and recognizing a manipulation tactic when he sees one, rolls his eyes and points to the sofa. Noctis quivers his lower lip at him, but Cor points again, and Noctis at last sulks over, plopping himself onto the sofa and crossing his arms in a Regis-esque gesture, glowering at his keeper. 

_ “That’s not the point! What precisely are you doing that requires he scream like that?!” _

“The brat decided to hang from the rafters to try to grab the papers out of my hands. I let him drop. It’s not that far.” And the floor is wood, so it’s not like he’s in mortal danger. “Honestly Regis, I’m not killing your son over here.”

Regis huffs into the phone, but Cor ignores that, and starts rifling through the hunts. Most of them are troublesome - seasonal appearances by beasts he’s slain before and will doubtlessly slay again. Spring brings all sorts of troubles to the plains and forests, and while it might keep their wallets fat with Gil for a foreseeable future, it keeps Cor’s patience at a thread.

After a while, Regis must realize Cor isn’t going to listen to his protective parent rants, so he quiets.  _ “Truthfully Cor,”  _ he says, and now Cor listens, because this is his  _ friend  _ talking, not a parent.  _ “Is he alright? Not physically, mind. But… emotionally? Is he doing alright? Growing alright?” _

That’s... a harder question to answer. Because from Cor’s perspective, mischievous imp though he might be at times, Noctis Lucis Caelum is growing fine. He’s still learning, still taking the lessons Cor imparts on him seriously, still working hard to be a good, upstanding person who understands the weight he will one day bear. 

But Cor can also admit, there are times where Noctis gets quiet, and still. Where there are shadows in his eyes that remind him of prey that’s been driven so far that it’s simply… given up. He’d gone into this knowing there could be days like that, where the shadows of the Maralith and worries for the future would eat the boy alive. But he thought perhaps they would be merciful enough to wait until Noctis was older, when he could understand those fears and worries and deal with them properly. 

Evidently, that’s not the case. And it leaves Cor in a bit of a bind, because for all that Noctis is growing well in some ways… he can admit there are others where it might be beneficial to seek out additional help.

“He’s doing as expected for a boy his age,” Cor says at last, when he knows the silence is probably eating Regis alive. “Could probably do with a friend his age--”

And he stops there, because  _ oh.  _ A friend Noctis’ age?

He’s got  _ that.  _

“I’ll ensure he has what he needs, Regis. I promise.”

_ “You sound like you’ve just gotten an idea in your head, Leonis,”  _ Regis says, then sighs.  _ “Please, just be careful with him. Whatever your plans, don’t overextend him.” _

“I won’t. I know his limits. I put them there, after all.” He ends the call, and turns his attention to the sulking baby Prince on his couch. “So. Here’s what’s going to happen, you brat. You’re going to go get dressed in your best clothes - and I don’t mean those hideous half-ripped jeans you like so much and that shirt that’s got moth marks in it, I mean your actual  _ nice  _ clothes - and we’re going for a ride. And  _ maybe  _ if you behave yourself, I’ll think about cutting your punishment down.”

“You’re bribing me?” Noctis whines. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

That get a snort from all three members of the family, and an eye roll from Dustin. Cor cocks an eyebrow as Noctis continues to play the injured party, sniffling and hamming up his offense like he wouldn’t immediately forget about it if Cor offered up a fishing trip. 

“Or,” Cor says, “I can put you to work right now, and have you go out and de-bone, gut, and skin that Behemoth carcass we’ve got. All by yourself.”

Noctis’ false hurt quickly morphs into genuine terror; he practically warps up the stairs in his despair to get away from the promised punishment. Monica manages to contain her snickering until the door slams shut, and then she’s cackling into her coffee while Dustin turns to give Cor a look of incredulous pride.

“Truly sir, Etro as my witness, that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him move in my life.”

“I’m pretty sure cleaning dead bodies counts as child abuse in Regis’ book,” Cor remarks dryly. “But if it gets the job done, I will gladly abuse the hell out of it.”

“You,” Monica salutes him with her cup, “Are pure evil, Cor Leonis. I don’t care what anyone says, you never lost that chaotic energy you had as a kid.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Cor scoffs, picking up his own lukewarm cup of coffee, and draining it. “I just learned to shift it into reserve for special events, or people I truly want dead. Or for children like Noctis, who have their own chaotic energy that needs challenging.”

“The original versus the remix,” Monica muses. “Six help the kingdom.”

“It’s not the kingdom that needs help, it’s my sanity.”

“I don’t think the Six care much about your sanity, Leonis.”

“Story of my life.”

The door opens, and there’s a thundering of footsteps down the landing. Cor casts his eyes up, and ah, that’s much better.

“Oh, we seem to have had a change of heart in the ranks,” Cor feigns surprise. “Whatever could have caused such a reaction?”

Noctis sullenly pouts up at him, which just serves to make him look younger. Then again, the uniform he’s wearing - black turtleneck beneath a black leather jacket, pants and gloves, serves to make  _ everyone  _ look young. 

“Quit teasin’ me and let’s just get this over with,” Noctis huffs. When Cor raises his eyebrows, he sighs and adds, “Please.”

“One day, you are going to look back, and realize just how many times you would have been thrown into a wall for your insubordination if you were anyone else.”

“Today’s not that day. Can we go? Please?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

“Cooooor.”

“One day, Highness. And when that day happens, I am going to expect an ‘I’m sorry I was such a little shit’ apology.”

“I’m not a little shit!”

“Original, remix,” Monica mutters into her coffee, and quickly turns her gaze back to her papers as Cor’s eyes cut to her. 

“Fine, then prove it. Go the car and stay quiet on the drive over. Don’t ask questions, don’t pester me about where we’re going or when we’ll get there. Now  _ go.” _

“Have a good trip,” Dustin calls as Cor grabs the keys on his way out the door. “Try not to kill each other before dinner is ready!”

“No promises,” Cor hollars back. 

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


It’s a pleasant surprise then, at least to Cor, when Noctis not only minds himself on the ride over, but continues to mind himself even as they pull into the parking area of the  _ Fidelis;  _ the white brick stands stark against the blue sky, a seemingly impenetrable fortress from the outside. This image isn’t helped by the guards standing near every door and window, all of which have bars and locking mechanisms. To an untrained eye, it looks like the sort of stuff to keep people from getting out. 

But it’s the other way around.  _ Fidelis  _ is a home for the abandoned, sullied, the hunted. Those who have been broken and left to die at the hands of others, or merely toyed with, set aside for later. The guards and iron bars and reflective, bulletproof windows are not to keep people from getting out, but rather to stop those who would attempt to come here to find their target from getting  _ in.  _

Noctis of course, doesn’t know that. All he sees is a large white fortress with angry-looking guards, and bars on windows. It’s no surprise that his bravery abandons him, and he presses himself tight to Cor’s hip, like he’s trying to fuse them together. Noctis has grown greatly since they left the Citadel, but his infamous shyness when exploring the unknown remains firmly stuck. He’s cautious, but he has no need to be. Not here.

Mother Saturio meets them at the door, her dark skin holding even more scars that Cor remembers seeing as a child. “Well, well. Cor Leonis. I did not expect to see you on our doorstep again.”

“It’s been a while, Mother,” Cor offers, bowing his head. He puts a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, an encouragement, and a focus to draw attention. “May I introduce my ward, Noct.”

When Cor was younger, and struggling to find his place in the world, Mother Saturio had always seemed like an indomitable presence to him. Like someone who worry slid right off of. She always seemed to know what to say, do, or how to act to keep the world in working order, even when logic failed and they had to rely on some less-than-conventional tricks to keep the children safe. 

Now, that facet of her personality shines through again, as she gracefully lowers herself down into a crouch, and smiles warmly at Noctis. “Good day to you, young one. I am Mother Saturio; your mentor likely has not told you of me, or this place, but I assure you, you are safe here.”

“What is this place?” Noctis asks, drawn out by curiosity.

“Fidelis,” Saturio answers, and gestures around them. “A home for those lost in life, for those who have been harmed by hands not their own. We offer them a place of learning, a safe haven here within these walls. We bring the husks they were back to life, and strengthen them. When they are strong enough to face their demons, we release them. But always, they are welcome.”

Noctis is perhaps a tad bit too young to grasp all the little nuances behind what Saturio is saying, but Cor can tell he at least understands the concept of keeping people safe. “Oh,” he says, and relaxes, just a tad bit. “Okay. So why are we here?” He looks up at Cor.

“To bring back someone I left here a few years ago. Tell me Mother, how has Prompto been?”

Mother Saturio smiles. “Ah. So the lion returns for his cub. He has been well. Missing you greatly, though he tries not to show it. He emulates you in front of the young ones, tries to keep them safe.”

“He’s not my cub,” Cor grumbles, even as some part of him goes  _ pleased  _ over the idea of Prompto trying to emulate him. “I’m not his father.”

Saturio’s smile holds an edge of mystery. “And yet, I still recall that night you came to us, the babe bundled in your arms. You looked at him like any father prepared to give their child a fighting chance does.”

“Doesn’t make me a father.” And he knows that from personal experience, given his own parents were rather shit at the concept. They hadn’t been abusive physically, but neglect and a refusal to treat a child like a child was its own sort of abuse. One Cor had come to terms with early on, and sought out Fidelis and the wilds of the world to help him learn what his parents wouldn’t teach.

He could give Prompto a roof over his head, food in his stomach, warm clothes and all the entertainment he could want for, and still not be a father. And Cor had known that even then. It was why he’d given Prompto to Mother Saturio’s care, rather than keep him at the Citadel. No child needed to grow up in a shiny cage, unable to interact with the outside world. 

Saturio evidently knows his thoughts, and his judgment. She bows her head, and says, “I will bring you to him. This way, please.”

She takes them through the main hall, past the classrooms Cor remembers walking between, past the tiny gardens the kids start in the spring and fight to keep alive during summer so they can harvest the goodies in the autumn. They’re lead to the foyer of the building, a wide, open area that’s been turned into a makeshift gymnasium for the kids. Cor spots Prompto almost immediately; high up on the bars, balanced on his heels as he urges another girl to climb higher.

“C’mon Sheela, just a li’l more--”

“No!” Sheela yells loudly, evidently not having it. Even when Prompto pouts at her, all she does is turn and ignore him, which settles the argument rightly. 

“Prompto Argentum,” Mother Saturio calls, a warning thread of sternness in her voice that makes Prompto  _ eep  _ softly. “What have I told you about climbing to the tops of those bars?”

“T-they’re not stable?”

“And what have you done?”

Prompto doesn’t need to give voice to the rest. Sheepish, he climbs down to safer ground, pink tinting his face and his shoulders to his ears. It’s a look Cor recalls sporting himself a few times during his trip with Regis, when Weskham or Cid scolded him over something or another. 

Mother Saturio sighs, and reaches out, tugging Prompto forward by a shoulder. “Prompto, Cor Leonis is here to see you.”

If anything, the embarrassment only triples. Prompto’s face goes from pink to red, his gaze hits the ground at his feet, and the soft, pained noise he makes practically begs  _ please just kill me now.  _ Cor bites the inside of his cheek, knowing if he laughs Prompto will never forget it.

“H-hello sir,” Prompto mumbles. “Nice to see you again.”

“But you’re not seeing him,” Noctis says, “You’re staring at the ground. C’mon, Cor’s up here.” And like a genuine child, he reaches over and tugs Prompto’s face up. Prompto flails, but Noctis is firm, and eventually Prompto has no choice but to look at Cor. 

“Prompto, it’s good to see you again,” Cor says. “The brat mishandling you is Noctis, my ward.”

“Noctis?” Prompto asks. “Like Prince--”

Noctis slaps a hand over his mouth before he can complete the sentence; Cor sighs loudly. “Not a Prince,” Noctis says cheerfully. “Just Noctis, okay?”

“Noctis,” Cor starts, but Prompto’s already bobbing his head, eyes practically glowing. 

“Okay! I’m Prompto then, Noctis!”

And as only children can, their friendship is solidified just like that. 

_ Children,  _ Cor thinks to himself as Prompto tugs Noctis around to show him the grounds.  _ Are a form of legendary cryptid of some sort. _

“I shall get you the paperwork,” Mother Saturio chuckles, and goes to do just that.

By the time they leave - Cor having had to wrangle some of the other Sisters and a couple of the Mothers into helping him locate his wayward pupils - Prompto and Noctis are acting like a pair that have known each other all their lives. It’s kind of cute to see, but also kind of concerning. 

Still, the concern he sweeps under the rug for the moment. Noctis is brightening up, coming out of his shell, and Prompto’s finally getting a chance to see the wider world. No doubt they’ll both drive him batty in the coming days, and Monica, Dustin and several of the nearby Hunters in the area will question killing him, but that’s par for the course when dealing with young royalty.

Young, dumb, prone to causing mischief, and never able to sit still longer than five seconds. 

“Prompto,” Cor says on the drive back. “Are you averse to gutting or de-boning? Tonight’s dinner is rather large, and the more hands we have to help the better.”

“Uh, can I avoid the squishy bits?” Prompto asks. “I don’t mind the bones, but uh. Yeah.”

“Then in that case, Noctis can do the gutting, you can do the deboning. Monica and Dustin will show you how.”

“Cool!”

“What about you?” Noctis demands. “How come you’re not helping?”

“Because  _ I  _ have a massive pile of Hunts that need looking over and sorting through, since  _ someone  _ decided to try to ruin my piles by digging through them for the ‘cool ones’.”

Prompto giggles. “That was you, wasn’t it Noct?”

“Could have been anybody,” Noctis denies, nose in the air.

“Hmm. Yes, never mind that there are only four of us in that lodge, and three of us know better.”

Noctis’s cheeks burn red. “Doesn’t mean it was me. Quit accusing me, Cor!”

“Who's accusing you?” Cor asks smoothly. “I was merely stating facts. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a guilty conscience.”

“You definitely did it, then,” Prompto declares, and Noctis stares at him in betrayal. “You shouldn’t! Mother Saturio always talks about the dangers of the wilds. What if you went out and there was more than just your Mark lurking around?”

“I--”

“Would be dead,” Cor and Prompto say at the same time. 

“Seriously,” Prompto says, and takes Noctis’ hands in his own. “Please don’t?” 

Noctis’ gaze drops; he mumbles something that might be  _ okay, if you don’t like it, I won’t.  _ Which, if that’s the case, Prompto’s already weaving miracles. 

At the very least, it gets Noctis slinking shame-faced into his rooms after dinner prep, offering to help him put the piles back into order. Cor lets him do it, expecting him to take one and run, but he doesn’t give them so much as a second glance. Just stacks them according to Cor’s orders, and then goes back downstairs for the meal.

_ Well what do you know,  _ Cor thinks, and continues thinking as the days grow foggy and cold, and Noctis’ behavior begins correcting itself beneath Prompto’s pleading gaze. He even eats a few vegetables - not always, and not all of them, but he’ll eat onions and rhubarb and celery, and that’s a pretty good start as far as Cor is concerned.

“Am. Am I doing okay?” Prompto asks him early one morning, as they wash dishes together. Cor washes, and Prompto rinses and dries. Outside, the sun is peeking through a haze of fog as it rises, the land outside green and wet with morning dew. It’ll be time to harvest the last of the vegetables for the year, before the soil goes dormant as winter sets in. Normally they’d have an extra month, but out here on the fringes of society, winter comes early. 

In the living room, he can hear Noctis yawning, Dustin patiently showing him the intricacies of stitching his own clothing. Monica’s brought a thimble from one of her own sewing kits, because even with a cup of coffee Noctis is still bleary-eyed. He’s being a good sport about his bedmate waking him up at dawn every day now, yawning a lot but drinking his coffee and trying to pay attention. 

It occurs to Cor not for the first time that when they get back to the Citadel, most of the lessons they’ve taught Noctis and Prompto will very likely be rendered moot. Like the stitching and sewing, the hunting, the gutting and deboning. The farming. All of it will be swept aside, as Noctis becomes embroiled in politics and the inner machinations of the Citadel. And Cor himself will be swept along right in it.

That’s fine, he thinks. He can teach the boys about the Citadel too. About the best people to go to for information, who to speak with when things go missing. Where to look for the first signs of trouble. It will still be them, just in a much bigger community, with bigger threats, bigger stakes, and more tragedy.

But for now, they have this - Prompto tugging Noctis out of bed each morning, and going running with Cor around the camp while Noctis helps Monica and Dustin make breakfast. Prompto and Noctis trading off on chores, helping the adults as they can. Trying to make life for everyone as easy as they can. 

“You’re doing perfect, Prompto,” Cor reassures, and the beaming smile he gets is worth it. They both are, his boys. And Cor will stand by them, even when it inevitably comes that they pack up and return to society. That these days in the wilds as a tiny little family become nothing more than a fond memory. 

“Can I ask you something, then?”

“Aren’t you already?”

Prompto makes a face, and Cor can’t help but chuckle a little. “Shoot.”

“Can you teach me to fight?”

“I can, but why the sudden interest? If you’re worried about falling behind--”

“It’s not that. I can’t stand the idea of Noctis standing by himself, either here, or back at the Citadel, when he goes. I want to be able to follow him, no matter where life takes him.”

“You’re aiming to be part of his retinue, then?”

“Yeah. If I can. And I figure if we’re going to be out here, this would be the best time to learn. I know I’ll probably still have to put in an application for Crownsguard when you guys get back, but--”

“No, you won’t. And what’s this ‘when we’ get back? You’re coming too, Prompto.”

“What?”

“Did you honestly think I’d leave you behind? I didn’t pick you up only to put you back. You’re coming with us, and that means going back to the Citadel when we go. To be honest, I figured I’d teach you Crownsguard methods when you got a little older, so that when we did return, I could simply inform the King you’d finished the training and merge you right in. But if you want to do it this way, we can start earlier. But let me make myself clear - once you start on this path, there is no retreat. No going back, no changing your mind. You stand by your Prince, and eventually your King, no matter what. Am I clear?”

“Crystal!”

“And you still want to do this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine then. I’ll start drawing up the plans, and at the turn of the new year, we’ll start the training. I need to start getting Noctis out on the hunts more anyhow, so you can accompany him as part of it. I’ll start you off as a three man team, and gradually feed Monica and Dustin out until it’s just you two. In the event anything goes wrong, it’ll be up to you to keep him safe. We’ll provide the backup, and won’t be but a call away.”

“Sounds good.”

“Ow!”

They both pause at the sound of Noctis’ yell. Dustin tuts.

“And  _ that _ is why you always carry a thimble.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll grab a kit the next time we go shopping.”

Cor snickers, and Prompto shakes his head and sighs.

“And can you have me learn that too? I get the feeling out of the two of us, I’m gonna have more patience for it then he does.”

“I certainly can. After breakfast.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  
  


** _Noctis; age 15_ **

  
  


“Got your keys?”

“Yep.”

“Cellphone?”

“Fully charged.”

“Gas in the tank? Spare tire? Tools?”

Noctis groans. Cor arches an impassive eyebrow. 

“Fine,” his charge grumbles. “Yes, I have all those things, and everything  _ else  _ you, Monica or Dustin advised us to have. It’s one C-rank hunt, Cor. We’re going to be  _ fine.” _

Behind him, Prompto throws the last of the stuff into the tiny little Jeep, closing up the doors behind it. It’s an oddly practical vehicle, and the first one Noctis and Prompto bought themselves,  _ for  _ themselves. 

“One hunt is all it takes, Highness,” Cor warns. “I mean it. Don’t get careless justs because it’s something you’ve killed before, or because there’s two of you and one of it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Prompto comes up, slinging an arm around Noctis’ neck, smiling up at Cor. “Anything goes wrong or starts going south, I’ll toss him back in the car and race us back here. Promise.”

“You’d better. Hunts can be picked by anyone, but I’d rather not have Dave on my doorstep anytime soon.”

They both wear tags now; they have since Cor started pulling them into the hunting business proper a year ago. They’ve made some pretty big strides, and now with a vehicle there’s no reason for Cor not to hand them the smaller hunts and let them keep the bounties they make. It also has the benefit of teaching them the finer points of balancing their books. Noctis and Prompto both keep a detailed account of what they regularly buy, as well as the stuff they absolutely need month-to-month, and weight that against treats or snacks or late-night dates to Takka’s diner. 

(And Cor knows  _ that’s  _ going to be its own headache when they get back to Insomnia, because while both boys keep it chaste in public, there’s no mistaking the easy affection shared between them, or the fact that Prompto slaps Noctis’ ass to get his attention, rather than tapping his shoulder like a normal person. Or the fact that Noctis doesn’t object. Regis probably will, but Cor doesn’t, because happiness is fleeting and Noctis will have an entire lifetime to wear a crown, but only a little more time to be who he is now.)

“We’ll be careful,” Noctis agrees, and means it. “We’ll see you in a couple hours. If we’re gonna be later, we’ll phone in.”

“Please do. Drive safe.”

“Can do! Seeya!”

“Later, Cor.”

He watches them pull away from the house and onto the dusty road, and waits until they’re a good distance away before walking back into the house with a sigh. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them - he does. He likes to think that during their time with him he’s raised them to have intelligence, and understand when to screw courage to the sticking place and when to pack it in and retreat. But he also knows they’re a pair of teenage boys, and they’re going to find trouble. Or it will find them.

His nerves on the matter aren’t helped by the fact that Cor’s last correspondence with Regis was over four months ago, which means something’s likely going down in the capital, and it has Cor itching to hop in the car and zoom back to find out  _ what.  _ He knows if it involves Regis’s health in anyway, Regis would argue with Clarus because Regis wants his son to have a chance to live life before he must bear the weight of the Wall, but Clarus wants what is best for  _ Regis. _ Clarus would call Cor and tell him he needs to bring the boys home. So the fact that Clarus  _ hasn’t  _ called is a good thing. But it leaves him wondering what sort of trouble has stirred. Monica and Dustin have already started looking into it, promising to keep him abreast as soon as they have the full story. 

He settles down at his desk to start in on the paperwork. There’s never much, but there’s always something that needs tending to. Back home, the Crownsguard would be starting the spring recruiting efforts, and Cor’s desk would be filled with applications. It always amazed him, just how many people were willing to join the Crownsguard, but not the Kingsglaive. Out here, he doesn’t need to worry about either of those things, just about the hunts they’re bringing in, and the tags they’ve collected.

And that of course, brings his mind back to the boys. 

He can’t help it. It’s like there’s a loose tooth in the back of his mouth, and as much as he wants to just yank it and be done with it, he can’t. 

_ Did they pack rations?  _ He wonders as he looks over the notes Dave left him about the recent band of lost tags. He thinks maybe he saw Prompto heading for the fridge before they left with a bag in tow. With Monica and Dustin up in the other office, it’s hard to say. 

The missing tags belong to two men - one who went east, and the other who went south-east, towards Kenny’s diner. Cor can probably pick that one up later himself. 

And now he remembers that yes, Prompto did raid the fridge before he left. And he needs to talk to Prompto about how much soda he’s ingesting later.

The clock ticks steadily onward, as Cor fusses and silently sorts through his work. He doesn’t even notice when he sets one hand up to hold his head, gripping his hair, relaxing and tensing the grip in intervals in an age-old anxious habit Weskham shook from him as a kid. Except now there’s no Weskham here tugging his hands away from his hair, telling him  _ “that’s not healthy, young man,”  _ and smacking his hands away every time they inadvertently drift back up.

He’s a man of forty-five, of fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be worrying about them like this. Not riling himself up so badly about what  _ might or might not  _ happen on the road. Hells, they might be fine. They might beat the Dualhorn, and come back, and be the best they’ve ever been. Maybe Prompto will invent a new trick with his guns, or Noctis a new move with his weapons. Maybe, maybe,  _ maybe. _

Six he hates that word.

The paperwork gets done with time to spare, so he decides to clean his office. It’s looking a little dusty, he thinks, and the windows are a little greasy. Even though he cleaned it yesterday, and does it every day without fail, there’s still a layer of dust there, he decides. Yes, he will clean, and that will help pass the time. 

So he rearranges and throws his office into a state of temporary disaster while he sweeps, mops, scrubs and dusts, and then just for an added challenge for himself tomorrow, rearranges everything. Spontaneity is the spice of life, Regis likes to tell him.

(Don’t think about Noctis. Don’t think about Prompto. Don’t.  _ Don’t.) _

Except as soon as he steps back to admire his work, his brain twinges. Because the paperwork cabinet should be beneath the window, not over by the door like he’s put it, and he hates his desk being in the far corner rather than the wall that puts his back up against a surface, and  _ oh god  _ what made him think rearranging the books by  _ title  _ was a good idea?!

So he upsets his office again to restore everything to its proper location, which given how he was raised and taught, only takes him about fifteen minutes. It took him ten minutes to do everything else that needed doing, so not much time has passed at all.

The house, Cor decides, desperately. The entire house needs cleaning. And dinner will need making - Monica and Dustin have been working hard for him, they’ll appreciate a hot meal when they come back. He’ll make it a nice surprise for them. 

Even though it’s only twelve in the afternoon. Never too early for dinner.

He cleans the house and the furniture in each and every room until it’s spotless, and everything smells like lemons or fresh breezes, does what amounts of half a load of laundry between all them (Noctis and Prompto regularly go down the laundromats for cleaning, to avoid having to look anyone in the eye over any  _ particular  _ stains they may or may not have), makes a veritable feast for dinner, and by the time that’s done, it’s only been two hours.

Monica and Dustin still aren’t home, but neither are the boys. Cor tries not to think about it. 

Instead, he runs down a quick inspection of the property. Pulls weeds until there’s not a single one left in the field (or perhaps, on the property), waters, and then re-tiles the roof. It’s something they’ve been meaning to do, but haven’t gotten around to, so Cor figures he might as well just get it over with. He cleans the eves out while he’s up on the roof, dislodging two old bird nests and a handful of leaves and other gunk. Sweeps the porch and airs out the mats until there’s not a bit of dust anywhere to be seen.

The house, he decides, is tolerably presentable. He’ll do a more thorough clean when he has time. 

It’s only three now, but there’s a car pulling into the driveway that’s familiar, Monica and Dustin stepping out. He lifts a hand in greeting, and they both stare at him.

“Cor?” Monica finally asks at last. “Where are the boys?”

“Mission. Why?”

“No reason.” She looks around the property, and her eyebrows start going up. “The… ah, yard looks nice. Very grass-free.”

“Weeds,” Cor returns. “Can’t stand them.”

Dustin coughs into a fist, but recovers quickly. Probably just a bit of errant pollen, Cor figures. He says, “I also made dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Dinner?” Monica asks, startled. “It’s barely past noon.”

“I was bored. Needed something to do.”

“...Bored?” Dustin asks, faintly. He exchanges looks with Monica. There’s something passing there, something familiar from his time with Regis and co. that itches the back of his brain, but he’s too busy  _ not thinking about the boys  _ to worry about it.

“House is clean, laundry’s done, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Monica says slowly. Her eyes catch the roof. “And I see you’ve re-tiled.”

“Told you, I was bored.”

Monica nods slowly, like she does when he’s picking apart a particularly interesting lie. “Are the boys expected back at any particular time?”

“Not really.” The words come out a little strangled. Cor clears his throat, forces a smile. Pollen. “Ah, sorry, sorry. I’m standing here chatting when you’re probably tired. I’ll shut up now. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the office.”

“Of course,” Monica agrees, exchanging another quick glance with Dustin. “We’ll be around.”

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Something is wrong.

The boys headed off shortly after eleven; at most, the hunt against the Dualhorn would have taken a couple hours. Maybe three, if they were pushing it, or something came up. It’s now approaching five in the evening, and they still aren’t back. 

Cor wants to say it’s just stray nerves making him think this, but he  _ knows  _ deep inside himself that Noctis and Prompto wouldn’t just… vanish without saying anything. Prompto at least would report on their success, and then add something about where they were going next. If they were going to take a night at Takka’s to celebrate, if they were going to be out past curfew,  _ something.  _ There’s never been a time where Prompto  _ hasn’t  _ called in to keep Cor updated. And he certainly wouldn’t just decide to fail to drop a line out of the blue. Even if Noctis decided he and Prompto should drive out to the middle of the desert and have copious amounts of car-rocking sex for the next six hours, Prompto would still make  _ some  _ reason behind their staying out. 

But there are no messages on his phone. No texts, no notes, no nothing. It’s been five hours, and his phone is utterly silent. It would not have taken them five hours to find or defeat a Dualhorn. Even if one of them was wounded - which  _ Six  _ he hopes that’s not the case - unless something bigger came along--

And his brain freezes there. Something bigger.  _ Something bigger. _

Like a Bandersnatch.

He feels cold fear grip his insides. He nearly falls over rushing over for the list of hunts in Leide, rapidly sorting through them until  _ there,  _ the Bandersnatch. He finds a copy of the Dualhorn hunt, and pulls them together, scanning down until he finds the locations on both.

They’re the same.

_ East of Hammerhead; Leide. _

A noise burbles out of the back of his throat; it’s a noise that he made several times when he was younger, brash, too inexperienced to gauge his fights correctly. A noise of pure fear, of realization that what he is facing is too big for him to conquer.

He’s sent his children to their deaths, and he did it with a smile on his face.

Monica and Dustin both exclaim when he leaps over the banister, grabs the keys and hauls ass to the car. He hears Monica yell something behind him, and then something hooks onto him, heavy, but he keeps going. He has to get to the car, he has to get to Hammerhead, he has to find whatever’s left--

Monica lets go of Cor where she was clinging to him like a burr to throw herself into the passenger seat, while Dustin hurries himself around to the back seat.

“Cor, what the f--”

“Leide. Kids.  _ Bandersnatch.”  _ It’s all he can manage to get out. But it’s enough; Monica locks up and swears softly, and even Dustin looks pale. 

There’s no more words after that, as Cor drives them well past the speed limit, taking the car as fast as it’ll go, grip tight on the wheel. He remembers now, the feeling from earlier - he’d gotten like this when Regis had gone off with Clarus, and not three hours later Regis had been in the hospital on damn near his deathbed, and Clarus hadn’t been much better. Cor had known, somehow, that something was wrong, and hadn’t realized it. 

And now here he is again, a grown man of forty-five, still having learned nothing. 

He screeches to a halt as movement comes in the distance; a bellowing roar that can only belong to the Bandersnatch, and then--

The sound of gunfire. Of a struggle. The world lights up as overhead, one of the SOS flares Prompto had with him takes off. 

_ Prompto. If Prompto’s alive-- _

“Get the kids!” he hears himself yell as he runs towards the beast. His head is filled with rage now, a deadly calm sweeping over him that has all the panic fleeing. The Bandersnatch is digging at a downed telephone post, a massive old thing that’s too wide and thick for it to break, even in a temper. Beneath that, Cor can make out movement.

If Prompto’s alive, he would have taken Noctis with him. He would have gotten them both to safety before engaging. Which means Noctis might be wounded, but he’s not dead. 

They’re okay. His kids are okay.

It doesn’t make the rage abate, not even in the slightest, as he unsheathes his sword, but it calms something in the depths of his chest that had been keening wildly at the thought. 

_ Now to deal with you,  _ he thinks savagely, and goes to town against the creature in red.

The rest is a blur. He knows he kills the Bandersnatch, he knows he hunts it down when it tries to run, and breaks its legs to prevent that happening. He knows he makes it messy and ugly, and it takes Monica grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him away before he finally regains something like sanity. The beast's carcass is mangled by the time he leaves it, barely anything connected to anything else. It doesn’t look much like a Bandersnatch anymore. 

Prompto’s awake, alive, but he’s clutching his shoulder, white-faced with pain, his eyes glassy. Noctis is unmoving, and there’s so much red on him that Cor might think him dead if not for the rise and fall of his chest. Once more Cor breaks the speed limit to get them back home, uncaring who sees or comes after them. 

Monica and Dustin kick him out of his office, and Cor doesn’t mind. He goes down to the kitchen, washes his hands clean of blood, and then digs out the biggest bottle of liquor they have and downs it. Then he forces himself up, to go and take a shower. There’s nothing he can do for the boys that Dustin and Monica aren’t already doing, and he shouldn’t get in their way. If he can’t make himself useful, he’ll make himself scarce instead.

But more importantly, it's been a long night, and he’s not about to sit at the boys’ bedside covered in the gore of the thing that tried to kill them. That would be, as Weskham once put it, incredibly passe. 

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


“Are you happy now, you broody old hen?”

He’s not. Not even close. He’s already called Regis and told him - and that had been one conversation that left Cor feeling incredibly small and young against his King again, as Regis had gone coldly silent, and then at last told him, “ _ Deal with it, Cor.”  _

His King is angry at him, and has every right to be. Cor swore he could take care of it, that he  _ would  _ take care of Noctis and Prompto, and he lied. He almost led them to their deaths by not being as aware of everything as he assumed. All that pride of his, for nothing. 

Maybe by the time he gets back, Regis will have found a replacement as Crownsguard captain.

“What do you think?” Cor snaps, and Monica blinks - her words were joking, but Cor’s not in the mood to joke, especially not about something like this. “If you’re not going to help, then leave.”

Noctis is still unconscious, having not woken once during their travel back home. Prompto’s finally asleep again; the drugs they gave him had a side-effect of leaving him sleepless and jittery, and he begged Cor to talk, to read, just to  _ speak,  _ because his voice soothed the anxiety. So Cor did - he picked up a book, and read. And Prompto had finally dozed off, and stayed down, and in the silence Cor can feel the guilt eating him alive.

Cid used to say guilt made him pissy. Monica evidently subscribes to the same thought. “Cor, this wasn’t your fault. This was an accident. That Bandersnatch could have been  _ anywhere  _ east of Hammerhead. There’s a wide stretch that constitutes ‘east’.” She throws a hand out to gesture to the landscape behind the house. “And we had no sightings out there beyond the Dualhorn. It was an accident.”

“They’re my responsibility.”

“Is this about Regis?”

Cor flinches. Thinking about Regis  _ hurts.  _ Because even now, he can hear the man’s quiet rage, feel his disappointment like an arrow through his heart. Clarus would have yelled at him, but Regis goes quiet when he’s angry, just like Weskham does. Cid yelled, back when they were together. Raised voices Cor is used to. It’s the quiet ones that hurt him the most.

“It’s my fault,” Cor says, and holds up a hand against Monica’s coming tirade. “Because they were under my care. I should have factored in something in that area showing up, even if, as you put it, there is a wide stretch and nothing was seen. I should have put them closer to home--”

“They were as close to home as we could get them without them being on our front porch,” Monica snaps, and jabs a finger at him. “You know that! And you know they won’t appreciate this brooding you’re doing, this self-flagellation just because Regis decided to get huffy!”

“His son is the Crown Prince, and the only heir Insomnia has!” Cor cries, shooting up off his chair. 

“And if Regis didn’t want his son taking risks, he should have swaddled him up and kept him home!” Monica yells right back. “We all know the risks, but he has to live, Cor! He can’t just be put in a corner and told ‘Don’t go outside, the world is dangerous’! Mistakes happen! Accidents happen! The important part is your ability to move on, and learn from them!”

Cor laughs. There’s nothing joyous in the noise. “Sure. As you say.” He turns his back to her and returns to his chair. Neither Prompto or Noctis have stirred. He closes his eyes, letting his silence be its own dismissal. Eventually, Monica huffs and leaves, shutting the door behind her as sharply as she can without slamming it.

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It’s not even a full week later when the summons comes.

Of course it would come, Cor thinks, washing dishes in a silent house. Dustin and Monica gone somewhere, the boys still asleep. Of course Regis would demand his child home, safe beneath his eyes and the eyes of the Citadel and the armies and the people. Of course Regis would tell Cor  _ go fuck yourself.  _

He hasn’t, in so many words. The letter merely states  _ round up the boys and come home immediately.  _ But Cor’s been with Regis long enough to know when a Lucis Caelum is telling him to go get fucked. He expects his replacement will meet him at the stairs, demand the items of his station, and then he’ll be shown the door. Cor can’t say he’s looking forward to it.

But the boys are still healing. Noctis woke up this morning, groggy and unintelligible in his mutterings - something about a shot, feral chocobo, and a raging behemoth - and Prompto is better but his broken arm, collarbone and still-fresh stitches ensure he’s not going anywhere for some time yet.

So when Cor answers the summons, it will be alone. Monica evidently wants nothing to do with him, and he doubts Dustin does either, after his shameful display of ignorance. He’ll go as soon as the dishes are done. He just needs time to collect himself, to remember how to breathe, and to fight off the trembling in his chest that feels very much like fighting back tears. 

He’s not, because he’s forty-five years old, and should know better. But then, that can be said of a lot of things about him, and yet it seems he’s still failing. 

He used to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t have been kinder for Mors to leave him on the side of the street, picking fights with men bigger than him like the feral, angry thing he was. He hasn’t thought about it in years, but it pricks his mind now. If maybe fate wouldn’t have been kinder, leaving him to the streets, to the parents who barely cared, to himself, angry and mean in all the wrong ways.

Maybe at least, it would have prevented the heartbreak that’s fixing to come. He dries his hands, and goes to get the keys.

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


_ Except. _

“Cor? What on Eos are you doing here? Where are the boys?” Regis looks behind him as if expecting to see them hiding there. “Cor?”

“I-- You summoned me. Us.”

“What? No I didn’t. Are the boys with Monica and Dustin? Has something happened? Did you run out of supplies early? You could have just called, you know, you didn’t need to come all the way back--”

“Regis,” Cor says, and something in his voice must give away his thoughts. “You--the  _ letter,  _ Regis. You’re telling me you didn’t send it? After the call, you didn’t demand I round up the boys and come back?”

“I did no such thing,” Regis confirms, and then ducks his head. “Although I will say I was too harsh when we spoke on the phone. Clarus talked me down after he got the details from Monica. I’m sorry I snarled at you, old friend. Forgive me?”

“Always,” Cor forgives, and accepts the squeezing hug he’s given. He shoves the letter out of his pocket at Regis. “It looks like your handwriting, Reg.”

Regis pulls on his glasses and takes a look. There’s a long, awful silence.

Regis sets the letter on fire. “You may want to call Monica and Dustin and tell them to lock down wherever the boys are,” he says in a voice far too calm, pulling his glasses off. Cor feels his heart rate skyrocket. “You’ve been tricked, Cor. A very fine trick, but a trick nonetheless.”

_ “How the fuck are you so calm?!”  _ Cor bellows as he goes tearing out of Regis’ office, scaring the two Kingsglaive standing outside his office badly. 

“Because I love and trust you, that’s how!” Regis calls after him as he sprints pell-mell towards the parking garage. “And tell Noctis I said hello!”

Cor breaks speed records getting out of Insomnia again, although somehow he doesn’t wind up with police on his tail. He makes it back and skids outside the house, ripping his seatbelt off and throwing the door open just as the front door of the cabin is kicked open, and two men go flying out. 

Masked, armed, and currently unconscious, bludgeoned by one Noctis Lucis Caelum, who holds a leg from their dinner table like a bat, ready to swing again. He catches sight of Cor and nods. “Diffen’t do,” he says, as if that’s supposed to make sense. “Cat tree moore.”

Cor stares, willing his brain to make sense of what his young charge is saying. “You… caught three more?” He hazards, and is rewarded with a patient smile and nod. “You didn’t do it?”

Noctis shakes his head. “ _ Diffen’t doos”  _ he says, and Cor wracks his brain. 

“Different…. Dudes?” 

Another nod and smile. The table leg points at Cor, and then at them, and Cor realizes Noctis is trying to say  _ I knew they weren’t you, so I hit them until they stopped moving.  _

“Are you hurt?” 

Noctis shakes his head, gestures inside. “P’om.”

“Is  _ Prompto _ hurt?” Cor feels his heart stop. But Noctis just shakes his head again, and he feels the terror subside. 

“P’om. Up.”

“He’s awake? Oh, that’s-- that’s good. Did he also, um, use a table leg?”

Noctis shakes his head, and points to the scabbard on Cor’s hip with a wide, beaming grin.

“Oh no,” Cor says. 

He rushes past Noctis, upstairs, where he finds Prompto, high out of his mind on pain meds, in deadly combat with his favorite writing desk, wielding the sword like one would a pool cue as he stumbles in place, his body clearly ready for a nap.

“Alright kid, he’s dead,” Cor reassures, gently taking the sword out of his hand. Prompto makes a noise like a cat whose brought it’s owner a dead bird, and been told it is the best of boys. “You can take a rest now. I’ll sweep up the bodies while you go take a nap.”

Noctis arrives of his own accord, kicking two different shoes off his feet, and continuing to smile as he gets back in bed. Clearly whatever Dustin gave them earlier is worth its weight in gold. Cor finds himself wondering if anyone would notice if some went missing. But someone has to be the adult around here, and given neither Monica or Dustin are back yet, it has to be him.

The boys fall back asleep easily, and Cor does as promised and drags the five idiots that couldn’t manage to outwit a couple of tired teenagers off and ties them up as he makes a call. Within the hour, a nondescript black van rolls up outside. Hands drag the bodies inside, and then the door shuts, and the van ambles on back towards Insomnia.

If nothing else, Regis should be allowed to have some fun, after all the trouble Cor has caused for today. 

And for his own troubles, Cor kidnaps a bottle of whisky out of the hidey-hole beneath the tree outside, and locks himself back in his office to quietly have a panic attack. 

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x

**Noctis; age 17**

  
  


It’s been a long time coming, but that doesn’t make anyone any happier about it. Noctis especially.

He’s enjoyed ten years of unrestricted freedom in the outside world, learning the ways of the Hunters, and of the wider world. Learning how to take care of himself, and Prompto, learning how to hunt and survive from Cor and Monica and Dustin. 

And now, it all comes to a close. 

Cor himself can only speculate, but given how silent the ride back to Insomnia is, he wants to say neither of the boys is very happy. Prompto, partly because Noctis is not happy, and partly because he’s entering a strange world he’s never been to, and wants to make a good impression and be allowed to stay by Noctis’ side.

Noctis, because returning to Insomnia means no more freedom. No more fishing nights with Cor and Prompto, no more cooking with Dustin, no more card games with Monica. It means picking up the crown and putting down the jacket, and returning to his life as nobody other than the Crown Prince. Cor’s been expecting some lashback - the kid’s still sort of a teenager after all, so there’s bound to be a fit or two. He’d readied himself for a “no, I’m not going”, but it never came. There were no screaming matches, no violent threats, no harsh words. Just Noctis staring at him with wide, shiny eyes, and then nodding, before quietly going up to pack, Prompto on his heels. 

Cor doesn’t try to lighten the mood. He lets the boys say goodbye to the outside world in their own ways, and drives. 

Regis is waiting for them when they pull up, a Crownsguard already waiting to open the doors, several more than normal standing around the entrance to the Citadel. At least here, Noctis smiles at the sight of his father, and accepts the hug he’s given by both Regis and Clarus. Prompto is also pulled in for a hug, and greeted like he was always there. 

Cor will confess to snickering when Ignis and Gladio walk out. Noctis, having not seen either during his last few visits, does a double-take, while Prompto makes a noise like he’s dying and turns bright red.

_ “Iggy?”  _ Noctis asks in disbelief, and stares when all Ignis does is laugh. Ignis has certainly sprung up from the boy he was, and Gladio isn’t far behind. They both welcome Noctis back with enthusiasm, and welcome Prompto no less warmly, and then Regis rounds them all up and they drift inside together.

“So,” Noctis asks at last, some of his happy mood falling by the wayside. “How much time am I allowed before I have to start cramming for Princehood?”

Regis merely arches an eyebrow. “I was under the impression Cor was doing a fine job of teaching you everything you needed to know about how to be a magnificent Prince.”

“He taught me plenty, but you know what I mean.” He gestures at Regis. “The clothes, the way I act, the way I speak, what I’m allowed to post on social media, the habits, the behaviors--”

“The annoyances,” Regis summarizes. “Those will come in small waves. Ignis can teach you much of it, and it will give you two a chance to catch up. What he can’t, we can find you a tutor for.”

“Great,” Noctis mutters. 

“But you needn’t worry about it anytime soon. School will pick up again soon, so we’ll need to get both you and Prompto enrolled. For now, that’s all I would like you to concentrate on.”

“Wait, you’re letting Prompto come?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Regis asks, honestly baffled. “You and he were raised together, after all. From what Cor has told me, you learn well beside him, and you complement each other well. I would like to eventually see that extend outwards to Ignis and Gladio, but I have no issue with Prompto remaining beside you.”

“Really?” Prompto asks, half delighted, half disbelieving. “You mean it, sir? I-I mean Your Majesty?”

“Of course. I do not say things I don’t mean.” He looks at them both. “Simply because you are no longer  _ outside  _ does not mean you are not free to have lives. I have a great many years left in me yet. Take your time in learning what you need to know. You’ll know when you’re ready for the crown.”

Cor honestly thinks if there wasn’t a miniature audience surrounding him, Noctis would break down into tears. As it is, he stares at the nearby wall fiercely, his face pink as he swallows, eyes suspiciously bright. 

“Cor. Walk with me, old friend.”

“Majesty.” He nods to Ignis and Gladio, and they split off from each other, the foursome drifting towards Noctis’ room, while Cor joins Regis and Clarus heading back for Regis’ office. 

“So tell me, how did you enjoy your brief stint at parenthood? Am I going to have to fight you over the ‘Number 1 Dad’ position this year?” Regis teases. Cor rolls his eyes as Clarus snickers.

“Hardly. I’m more like a beleaguered uncle than anything.” 

“Oh I wouldn’t be so sure,” Clarus challenges, a knowing gleam in his eye. “You did a rather neat job for someone who claims to be ‘just an uncle’.”

“Yes, very  _ fatherly  _ behavior coming from a man who used to fight everything that had legs,” Regis jokes. “Cooking and cleaning and tucking them into bed. A far cry from little Cor “Fight Me” Leonis.”

Cor rolls his eyes again, but that only seems to make them more enthused in their teasing. As if him being exasperated is some mystic truth they’ve uncovered. 

hey’re being ridiculous - Cor is not, nor will he ever be,  _ a father. _

Later that evening, Noctis finds him and manages to sneak a hug around him when Cor’s guard is down, murmuring, “ _ Thanks for everything, Cor.”  _ Cor, forgetting where he is, sighs and pats him on the back.

“You’re welcome Noct.”

“ _ A-HA!” _

_ Shit. _

“I  _ knew  _ it!” Regis crows, while Cor bites his lower lip and thinks  _ you fucking idiot, Leonis. _ “I warned you, Cor. You leave me no choice. You’ve forced my hand with this--”

“Regis, it’s a  _ hug,  _ you lunatic--”

“Ah, but it’s a hug you wouldn’t have given if you were  _ merely an uncle,”  _ Clarus taunts. Cor glares at him, but all Clarus does is smirk at him, evidently enjoying his suffering. Noctis hasn’t let go of Cor yet, content to watch the nonsense unfold. 

“Oh shut the hell up,” he snaps. “Noctis,  _ off.” _

“But  _ Cooooooor,”  _ Noctis whines, and Cor again, doesn’t think.

“ _ Noctis.” _

Noctis, recognizing his tone, smiles and takes a step back, hands held aloft in a position of surrender. “Going, going. Geez.”

Behind him, ominous silence.

“He did it.”

“You heard it, right?”

“I did.”

“ _ The Dad Voice,”  _ they whisper together, and Cor groans as Regis cackles like a madman.

“Cor Leonis, I warned you! Try to out-dad me, and I will have no choice. I’m breaking out the Dad Puns.”

“Oh Gods no,” Cor begs. Regis only grins, wide and exuberant.

“Oh  _ yes. _ Watch what you say, Cor. I  _ will  _ be keeping my ears open.”

“Well you always have been rather  _ batty,”  _ Cor responds, for the third time without thinking. The delighted gasp uttered by Clarus makes him close his eyes.

_ Dear self, please stop talking. _

“He challenged you to a  _ pun-off.  _ Regis!”

“Oh I know Clarus. And he will get his due.” Regis is evidently enjoying the hell out of this. “I will make sure of that.”

“How about we forget any of this happened and go back to when Noctis was seven and I was just a babysitter?” Cor demands. Regis only laughs at him as he strides away, Clarus at his heels.

And Noctis, in true brat fashion the next day, puts a mug down in front of each of them. Both say “# 1 DAD” in bright pink lettering. 

“So,” he says, as Cor glares and Regis smiles. “I heard there was gonna be a fight?”

“Noctis Lucis Caelum, you are  _ grounded,”  _ Cor deadpans, and basks in the horrified look he gets. Maybe there’s more to this parenting gig than he first thought.

“You can’t do that!”

“According to this mug, I can.” He lifts it, and fixes Noctis with a beaming smile. “You gave it to me, therefore, you acknowledge me as a father. Therefore, I can ground you.”

Noctis turns to Regis, eyes wide. “Dad--”

“Now Noctis, your father has spoken. Be a good boy and listen to him.”

“ _ Since when do you agree with him?!” _

“Since he became your father, which makes us married. The mugs don’t lie, you know.” Regis pours his coffee, and offers the pot to Cor. Behind him, Clarus is fighting to keep a straight face. So is Ignis. Prompto and Gladio are both heavily invested in their food. 

“Nnng, I’m so tired,” Noctis grumbles, and Cor sees Regis’ eyes light up. Cor fixes his eyes to the nearby drapes, and pretends he’s gone deaf. It’s the least he can do.

“Hello So Tired, I’m Dad!”

“ _ ARGH, I HATE THIS FAMILY.” _


End file.
